Frozen Moment (41 page)

    Bärneflod
nodded.

    When
Tell looked up he met Ann-Christine Ostergren's searching eyes. He wondered how
long she had been standing by the door watching him, and immediately felt uncomfortable.

    They
had always worked well together in the past. He cursed himself for getting into
a situation where he felt like a criminal in his own workplace. In fact, he
felt as if he lacked control at every level. The enquiry was at a standstill; they
were gathering material that led nowhere, and the only thing he could
concentrate on at the moment was his own internal conflict. He was sufficiently
in love to risk letting the cat out of the bag with regard to Seja, but he was
far from ready to sacrifice his job or even his reputation for love. He just
didn't have that kind of spontaneity in him. And, as Carina had once put it, if
he didn't have his job, what did he have?

    Ostergren
sought eye contact again and indicated that he should come to her office after
the meeting. He nodded silently. A chill spread through his abdomen. Did she
know anything? But how could she?

    He
would have to stop seeing Seja. She was mixed up in an investigation he was
leading, and no amount of explanation would convince Ostergren.

    He
became aware that his colleagues were waiting for him to speak and pulled
himself together.

    'The
ex-wife's alibi, on the other hand, is watertight,' he said.
'Maria
Waltz was staying over at her parents' house in Kungsbacka, along with her
younger son.
Her mother confirms that Maria had stomach cramps during
the night, and that she filled a hot water bottle for her a couple of times.'

    'So
we can cross her out.'

    'What
about the sons?' asked
Beckman.

    'What
about them?' said
Karlberg.

    'You
mean you don't think children are capable of murdering their parents, or that
teenagers don't commit murder? Take a look at the crime statistics.'

    'We
were intending to speak to the boys,' Tell defended himself, looking over at Karlberg.
'Can you call them in? The younger one can have his mother with him,
then
we won't get a load of earache about bringing in social
services. He'll probably say there's no need anyway.'

    He
saw Beckman stiffen. Presumably it annoyed her that Tell evidently felt it was
more likely that Karlberg would get the boys to talk.

    The
age issue had been at the forefront of Tell's mind in making his decision. The
younger officer's lack of experience was often noticeable in
a
certain
inflexibility when it came to interview technique, and this
could be counter-productive when questioning youngsters. But in this case he
had faith in Karlberg, who perhaps had a better idea of how a seventeen
year-old boy thinks. Tell realised he still thought of Andreas Karlberg as
green, despite the fact that he had a fair number of years in the job behind
him now. He was also a quiet pleasant individual who often made people feel
they wanted to confide in him, which wasn't something Tell could always say
about himself.

    He
ran his hand irritably through his hair. He couldn't shake off the feeling that
he had lost his focus in this investigation. The thought from the previous
night came back to him: there was no logical explanation as to why the same
person should want to kill two men from such completely different backgrounds
and with such different lives. The discovery of the rented Grand Cherokee in
Ulricehamn was certainly a step forward, but Mark Sjodin had had the car for
only two days, and therefore could have run over only one of the victims in it.

    Before
the meeting Tell had been informed that the Mark Sjodin whose ID had been shown
to Berit Johansson did in fact exist, and was registered at an address in
Dalsjofors. Initially he had had no hesitation in ringing Sjodin to ask him to
come to the station so that he could be eliminated from their enquiries. He
totally discounted the idea that Sjodin might be the murderer and had hired the
murder weapon in his own name. Unfortunately Tell had been unable to get hold of
him before the meeting, which gave him a little time to consider whether he
ought to treat Mark Sjodin as a suspect.

    Having
decided to send a patrol car out into the sticks to pick up Sjodin, he didn't
want to waste any more time. He excused himself and went to ask Renée to take
care of the matter.

    When
he came back into the conference room, he felt a little more cheerful.

    After
Beckman and Bärneflod had summarised what they had found out by going through
old reports of similar violent crimes, the team went through the other cases
that were crying out for attention.

    Tell
was well aware that the extra resources they had been granted were now hanging
by a thread. If he was unable to demonstrate concrete progress soon, they would
lose the additional help. When Beckman brought up the fact that Lise-Lott Edell
had moved back home and was asking for protection, the tiny fragment of
desperately won pleasure in his work disappeared.

    Lise-Lott
was obviously afraid that the murderer would come after her, given that no one
yet knew who he was or why he had murdered her husband.

    'Out
of the question,' Tell said, not bothering to hide his irritation. 'There are
no indications of any such threat. And we just don't have the staff for that
kind of thing.'

    The
man on the opposite side of the desk in the interview room had an unpleasant
habit of picking at his cuticles. Tell tried not to look at the sores that Mark
Sjodin couldn't leave alone, which didn't really fit with the overall picture.
Otherwise, Sjodin was impeccably dressed, and looked exactly like the expert in
debit and credit that he was; he had informed Tell of this important fact right
from the start. Sjodin Audit was based in Borås.

    A
drop of blood coloured Mark Sjodin's thumbnail red. It made Tell think of an
example Beckman had once mentioned from her psychology training. A
man
, doubtless as apparently ordinary as Sjodin, had
collected his own excrement in a box under his bed. Tell didn't have the
expertise to give a sensible explanation as to what caused this kind of bizarre
behaviour, but he assumed it arose from the very human need to find an outlet
for one's frustration. If you didn't allow yourself to be less than perfect
elsewhere, perhaps the thing you didn't want to reveal ended up under the bed
in the form of a box of shit.

    In
his work Tell had a theory that perfection always masked something else. A
person who displays an impeccable facade and the patience of a saint has
something to hide.
An anger
so fierce that it has to
be kept under strict control.
A box of shit under the bed.
Or a body buried in the garden.

    Therefore
he quite liked Mark Sjodin's inflamed cuticles. They made him human.

    'So
you're saying that I hired a black Jeep in Ulricehamn between Christmas and New
Year?'

    'I'm
saying that the hire of a Jeep was registered in your name on 27 December at
Johansson Johansson in Ulricehamn. Are you claiming that you didn't hire
a car at that time?'

    'I
wasn't even anywhere near Ulricehamn at that time.'

    The
sore next to Sjodin's thumbnail started to bleed again, and he staunched the
flow by pressing the top of his index finger against it.

    The
auditor's forehead was dry despite the heat from the powerful fluorescent
lights, and his eyes were still firmly fixed on Tell. He certainly didn't seem
nervous. Tell got up and fetched a packet of tissues from the handbasin. By
handing over the tissues and gesturing in the direction of Sjodin's hand, Tell
let him know that he had seen through the facade.

    Sjodin
muttered something and wrapped a piece of tissue around his thumb. He cleared
his throat a few times, finally seeming to lose his cool. Then, just as
quickly, the penny dropped. It was impossible not to notice how relieved he
was.

    'Now
I know what happened! My wallet was stolen on Boxing
Day,
that
must be it. Somebody pretended to be me and used my ID to steal the
car.'

    'We're
not talking about a car theft here; this is a murder investigation.'

    Sjodin
became very still, breathing jerkily through his mouth. He didn't even bother
to wipe the condensation off his glasses.

    'You
mean the person who pretended to be me murdered someone?'

    Tell
didn't reply; he simply watched as Sjodin absorbed the information.

    'Why
didn't you report the theft of your wallet?' he asked eventually.

    'But
I did!' Sjodin exclaimed indignantly. 'If my daughter's cat hadn't been run
over I would have reported it as soon as I got home from the Co-op - that's
where it was stolen. I'd been shopping in Borås and I paid for my stuff; the
thief must have taken the wallet while I was packing everything into bags. I
must have put it down for a few seconds.'

    'When
did you report it?'

    'Two
days later, on 28 December.'

    'Can
you remember anything about the person in front of you or behind you in the
queue at the checkout? Or anyone who stood unnecessarily close to you?'

    Sjodin
shook his head firmly. 'I've been thinking about it, because I wondered who
would have had the nerve virtually to steal my wallet out of my hand, but… I
can't remember anything in particular.'

    'Do
you perhaps remember which checkout you were at?'

    'I
do, it was the one furthest away from the entrance. I went back to speak to the
cashier to see if she'd picked it up, but of course she hadn't.'

    'OK.'
Tell stood up and held out his hand.

    'I'll
have a look at your report. Otherwise we're done.'

    Mark
Sjodin stayed where he was for a moment. He took off his glasses and polished
them before finally leaving the interview room with Tell.

    'What
about the chances of getting my wallet back?' he asked.

    'What
do you think?' Tell replied, leaving the auditor to his fate, or rather to the
receptionist, who helpfully showed him out.

    It
was as he'd thought: the ID was stolen. This increased the likelihood that it
was their murderer who had hired the Cherokee in Ulricehamn.

    He
stuck his head around Gonzales' door.

    'Get
the Jeep from Ulricehamn brought in straight away.'

    Gonzales
was just keying in the number for Johansson Johansson when Tell heard the
phone ringing in his own office.

    The
caller display showed Seja Lundberg's number. This immediately made him think
of Ostergren's searching gaze that morning. He swore as he realised he'd
forgotten his promise to go and see her straight after the meeting, and now
Ostergren would be wondering more than ever whether he was avoiding her.
Which he was, of course.
The phone stopped ringing.

    'One
missed call'.

    
Sometimes
you have to make choices in life,
he told himself. The only reasonable
choice in a situation like this was to end the relationship with Seja, even
though it had only just started. It wasn't even a choice, really; it was the
only possibility. Because as Carina had said, if he didn't have his job, what
did he have?

    With
a heavy heart Tell walked over to Ostergren's office, only to be informed by
her secretary that she had gone home for the day. He felt an enormous sense of
relief, although he knew it was childish; the problem would still be there
tomorrow. Since he didn't have to face a difficult conversation with Ostergren,
he felt ready to listen to the message from Seja.

    'I'm
trying to revise for an exam but I can't stop thinking about you,' she said.
'So I'm giving up and calling you, since you never seem to call me. I've
decided I'm too old to play hard to get, when I'm not hard to get at all.'

    The
message broke off, leaving a painful emptiness where her voice had been. Tell
deleted it.

    1995

    Until
the moment he saw her standing there on the stairs, without a scrap of make-up,
her hair on end and looking as ugly as a troll, the thought of Solveig had made
him want to stick pins in his brain.